THE YELLOW

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Once there lived a little boy and his father, who went out for a rainy walk by the cliffs. The little boy was clutching his umbrella tightly as the wind howled. “Daddy,” the boy asked, “Can we walk here again soon?” “Of course we can, Son, of course we can.” The wind howled harder, as though it mourned a loss, and the clouds were a deep, sombre grey. The young father gripped his son’s hand tighter. Suddenly, lightning struck just behind them on the cliff. The boy jumped in fright, dropping his umbrella in shock. “We need to go, Son!” the Dad shouted. “But my umbrella!” he said back, pointing to the umbrella tumbling down the cliffs. “Leave it! We have to go!” “But it was Mummy’s!” he cried, as his dad dragged him away. “We can get it tomorrow!” said the father, pleading for his son to follow him more easily. Eventually, they made it to the car. But as they drove away, the young man knew they wouldn’t get it tomorrow. They would look, of course, but the storm would destroy it, no doubt.

The next day, however, when the clouds had cleared, the yellow umbrella sat, safely, at the bottom of the cliff.